The War for Hell's Kitchen: Season One
by brenli
Summary: [[Marvel's Daredevil AU]] She ran, ran across state lines, from Vermont to the chaotic and passionate pocket of New York known as Hell's Kitchen, eager for a clean slate... But nothing stays clean in Hell's Kitchen. And nothing near her stays safe.
1. Sugar-Coated Monster

_Foreword:_ _The following is a Marvel's Daredevil/The Punisher AU piece. I do feel it should be noted, this project as a whole was created to be a sort of joint project between myself, Jael Randell (who the readership will likely know as the cowriter for Chronicles of the Fallen's second installment, Layers), and HaloRecoil. There will likely feel like there are… not necessarily huge missing parts, but like there are skips ahead to different parts of the overarching plot, as I will only be posting the pieces I myself have written. Familiarity with the storylines of Daredevil is, therefore, highly recommended. That said, there are going to be some deviations from said plot, and the overall world of this AU was constructed prior to the premiere of The Punisher, so it will likely not follow the exact story arcs that show will employ. It feels moreso like a situation where one must know the rules before breaking them._

 _Also, while this has its roots as an Angel Sanctuary gone Daredevil/The Punisher AU, this piece features Nemaelle Mudou, OC for my CotF series, Azreal, HaloRecoil's OC for her Coming of the Seraph series, and Zephyrel, OC for Jael Randell's Eve of the Earth series. It should be noted, however, that these characters (and all characters, really), have been 'normalized' in their features – no otherworldly colors, bringing everyone down to earth, so to speak. For example, Nema's trademark white-haired, red-eyed look has been toned down to a pale blonde, chocolate brown-eyed look._

* * *

 **The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Sugar-Coated Monster  
_ By: Brenli

… This was it. This was the end of the line. It had to be, lying in a holding cell, faking sleep and trying desperately to block out the world. To block out Hell's Kitchen.

Maybe the irony was in the name. She'd run far away, across state lines, straight into the belly of Hell's Kitchen like it could become her personal Heaven after all the legitimate Hell she'd been raised in, and all she'd lost to it.

For a while, that's what it was. Trading out worn denim and tank tops for silky blouses and lovely skirts, her beat up off-brand Chucks for shiny patent leather high heels. An unassuming secretary gig for Union Allied Construction, nothing particularly grand, but that was fine. It was even what she wanted. People liked to dream enormously huge; they wanted adventure. They wanted to have some kind of connection to grandiose groups, who did major, maybe even top-secret things.

It was easy to want those things when you weren't actually a part of it. Hell... technically, she hadn't been a part of those things. No, she'd only been on the peripheral, for as long as she could remember.

But she'd seen enough... and done enough, too.

She had no problem dreaming small. At least they were _her_ dreams; she had them and obtained them all by herself. She _liked_ being a sweet and sunshiny secretary. She liked twisting up her pale blonde locks with pens and forwarding phone calls. She liked the brief hellos that she shared with Daniel Fisher from down in Legal, and listening to him beam about his family. It was simple and it was easy, and she couldn't believe that life finally felt natural as oxygen. Not complex and deadly, like radioactive cobalt.

But maybe she should have known this would happen. Like the cobalt had somehow leeched its way under her skin and rendered her toxic, no matter how nice she was. Maybe she hadn't escaped, maybe it was forever a part of her, and just like it had killed her family, now it killed Daniel. Maybe she was cursed, maybe she was like a walking atomic bomb, and all the more dangerous because she dared to be friendly.

Nema writhed in the uncomfortable cot and tried to pass it off for deep sleep movements, aware that a surveillance camera was watching her... not too different from Vermont. She remembered her father decorating the camera up in the corner of her room... He made it look like a great big moon; he used to say the blinking red light was from a space ship that landed there, looking for moon cheese. She missed him...

Or, she missed that part of him...

She shut her eyes tighter, like she anticipated all the images of the final, fatal night in Vermont. How terrible, how guilt-inducing, to feel relieved that instead her brain was stuck on the visual of Daniel, dead in her apartment, with the knife clutched in her hand and no idea how it got there. God, she never should have asked to meet him, never should have shown him what she discovered.

Her fingers clutched at her pillow as she tried to swallow down the guilt. She had plenty of things to feel guilty about, but Daniel wasn't one of them. Right? She hadn't killed him. Yes, she was holding the knife, and her hand was smeared with the red of his blood, but she had _no_ recollection of actually harming him. Much less any desire to do so...! No, the blood of one innocent soul was too heavy to carry; she didn't want any more!

Would the lawyers be able to help her? They seemed kind, even if the more approachable one had nearly ran out on her when she warned them that she had no money. The less approachable one, tall and long-haired and blind... it was he who ultimately preserved the unimaginable safety net to catch her as she fell. All because, as he simply put, he believed her.

Why? She had no idea, but his smooth voice spoke with the conviction of a mountain, massive and unwavering. He believed her... and she would have to cling onto that belief.

Even if, at the time of talking, Setsuna Nelson and Uriel Murdock had only been practicing law for about seven hours. It was all she had and she was desperate. Nema knew a lot about being desperate. You dug your fingers like claws into whatever you had to help you, no matter how unsure you were...

A hand come down on her mouth before she could scream, but her brown eyes shot wide as a doe's, and she screamed, anyway. Struggled, kicking into the air as the police officer pressed down hard against her mouth, mashing the flesh of her lips against her teeth. Tears immediately streaked down her face and into her hair because she didn't want to feel this way, and yet it came to her, anyway – the hyperalert adrenaline, fight and flight comingling and waking her up all the more. Her hands pushed, scratched at the crisp white shirt, and her mouth screamed even as the pressure made her lips feel like they might be splitting. She screamed, and she scrambled... and she committed his face to memory. Gray hair starting to recede a bit at the crown, ruddy skin, dark eyes with his brow in a permanent furrow that made him look sad. She scratched and tried grabbing for anything, because anything could be a weapon if you put your mind to it. She spotted a name tag pinned to his uniform – C. Farnum, she committed that detail to memory alongside his face – and tried to rip it off. It pulled free... a magnetic backing. Not the sharp pin she was hoping for.

The officer managed to lift her up, and she struggled to get on her feet. If she got on her feet she'd have leverage. If she got on her feet she could rise up, send her elbow up into his face, something, she could survive, she had to survive.

Officer Farnum's hands dropped away, and that was when her cries went from muffled to an animal roar. Even as the white bed sheet came down around her neck and wrapped tightly, once, twice, three times. She didn't let the fear of dying stop her, planting her feet against the wall and pushing hard against him. It was stupid, it was an aimless move, but she had to try something. Anything. She had to survive. She hadn't come this far just to perish at the hands of a very crooked cop.

The sheet constricted as she struggled, and soon she was reduced from fierce roaring to breathless gagging. Her nails scratched the skin of her throat as her fingers tried to dig their way in past the fabric, tried to pull it free so she could keep breathing, keep fighting, keep surviving. Her fingertips tingled, her vision blurred...

Her hands dropped away.

"I'm sorry..." Officer Farnum whispered. "I'm... I'm sorry..."

Nema's hands suddenly reached up with her fingers hooked like talons, clawing, tearing their way across the cop's face until she sunk her nails into his eyes. The pain of it sent him stumbling backward until his back slammed on the opposite side of the holding cell, releasing her with anguished groaning.

Nema let him suffer as she coughed and panted, dragging in as much breath as she could muster. Crawling like ravaged prey, clinging to the holding cell bars. She inhaled a deep, painful breath...

She screamed.

She screamed like an animal trapped in a fighting pit with another animal.

She screamed like she was on her knees in her apartment, holding a bloody knife and beholding Daniel's dead body.

She screamed like she was in Vermont, holding a gun.

She screamed, even when her blurred vision saw several pairs of feet walk in, one with the frenzied, tapping aid of a blind man's walking stick; she screamed. Crying over the return of death. Roaring for survival.

Nema couldn't pinpoint when she stopped screaming. She only knew that she grew hoarse and that the roars began to sound ugly and rather monstrous. Maybe that was fitting, maybe she was a sugar-coated monster of a girl...

After that she was silent. She felt floaty, she felt like the world was surreal. An odd thing to feel after all the things she'd grown up seeing. All the science, the beauty and the ugliness of it, the terror of cobalt and secrets.

Of course, Nema wasn't naive. She knew the world beyond the giant house turned lab – lab turned house – was full of its own dangers. She just... figured it was rare enough for her to avoid. And hadn't she had enough, already? Was there some kind of suffering quota? Because she was sure she'd more than met it, already.

But here she was, being framed for murder, and nearly being murdered in her holding cell. What if this was the nature of who she was? Maybe she just attracted danger, maybe it would seek her out in every corner of the globe...

"Couldn't find any milk. I hope it's okay..."

Nema was silent as she took the mug, but felt the urge to tell a very gentle-voiced Setsuna that he should probably kick her out.

"We have tea now?" Uriel spoke as he shook open a cheap chair next to a taped-up, cardboard box. They weren't kidding about having only very recently moved in to their offices...

"I stole it from the financial office next door." Setsuna joked warmly, and it reminded her of her brother. Mischievous and cheerful...

She let the memory steep in her like the sachet of tea in her mug, watching Uriel bring the chair right across from her and sit... It was a bit comical. He was just so... so tall, that it made him sitting in that cheap fold-out chair look like he was all limbs. Dark-tinted lenses kept his eyes from view, but the features of his face were genuine in their gentle sympathy as he sighed. "How are you holding up?"

"... Better." Nema's voice was thrashed; it came out weak and scratchy. "Thanks for getting me out."

Uriel smiled, and while she wouldn't necessarily call him a cold man, the curve on his lips made him seem warmer. Like sunlight finding a way to filter through the many leaves of trees.

But Setsuna, while being the one she'd quickly call the sunnier of the duo, was also the realist. "Don't thank us yet. Just because they released you doesn't mean they won't eventually bring charges."

"Which means it's crucial you don't speak to anyone other than the two of us about what happened." Uriel finished right on the heels of Setsuna's words, but kept the smile on his face.

Nema's lashes fell over her eyes as she spoke into her mug of tea. "I don't have anyone to talk to, anyway..." Too true. Before her New York life got stabbed, she hadn't exactly made many friends. She liked to think she was a pretty approachable person. That she was friendly. But for however kind her interactions with people were, she'd never really made an actual _friend_. She thought it might have been a New Yorker thing until Daniel came along and was easy to talk to... but maybe Daniel wasn't a born and bred local, either. She'd never gotten around to asking, and now she'd never be able to ask.

She saw Uriel's smile begin a slow fade; apparently her loner status was palpable. "Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?"

God, they'd already done so much for her, as far as she was concerned. They offered to fight for her. They pulled her out of that cage she nearly died in. They gave her tea. "My apartment's not far..."

"You can't go back there." Setsuna's response was immediate.

Well she couldn't ask them to get her a hotel room... "It's really okay-"

"Miss Page," Uriel cut her off, albeit with a kind smoothness in his voice. "Our immediate priority is to keep you safe. And in order to do that, we're gonna need to have a frank discussion."

He was kind, but his words rang with a finality that had her stammering. "... O-okay."

Uriel didn't mince words. "Do you know who's trying to kill you?"

Nema wished she did. "No."

"Do you know _why_ they're trying to kill you?"

She looked up into his dark glasses and only saw her face reflected back, her eyes a bit wide and doe-like. Fear and old habits made her consider lying... but maybe... maybe this was going to be the key. The way to shed light on what she had discovered. "... Yes."

Uriel didn't so much look at Setsuna as turn his head gently in the direction of his partner. "Do you mind if we record you? Anything you have will be a huge help with your case... and I mean, literally anything."

He seemed bashful about it, like it was somehow his fault they had nothing going to defend her with. It had her placating that sorry look with a soft-toned reassurance. "Sure, yeah. That's fine..."

"Great!" Setsuna made a pretty peppy kind of lawyer... but Nema liked that. "Let's all shuffle on into the other room; I have a tape recorder all set up, there."

And shuffle they all certainly did, weaving through piles of boxes. Uriel's cane tapped against them, though not nearly as often as she would have figured. Maybe he had the layout of the mess memorized by now; these were his offices, after all...

But they shuffled, and they sat, and after Setsuna got the tape recorder going, she sipped at her tea and spoke. "I, uh, work..." She paused, nervously fidgeting. "Worked... in the financial department at Union Allied." She swallowed, feeling the lump slip past where the sheet had strangled her hard enough to leave a deep bruise like a violent necklace... Ugh. It was probably going to be a good long while before she started wearing necklaces, again. "They're overseeing the bulk of the government contracts for the West Side reconstruction."

Setsuna nodded along with her, with his pen at the ready against a sheet of paper. "I've seen their signs all over Hell's Kitchen."

"The last two years have transformed the business... There's new owners, new grants, new contracts."

"Oh yeah," Uriel agreed, "The world watched half of New York get destroyed. That's a lot of sympathy."

Nema wished she could be proud of that sympathy. For a while, she had been... "And Union Allied benefited from every dollar of it. I was the secretary for the chief accountant, and one of my jobs..." She hesitated, eyes darting across the table for words, for courage, "was to coordinate the pension claims for the company. About a week ago, I was emailed a file called, 'Pension Master.'" She found herself leaning down, toward her tea, toward the tape recorder. "It must have been meant for my boss, but I made the mistake of opening it..."

"I'm guessing it wasn't the pension fund."

Nema shook her head, even though she knew Uriel couldn't see it. "It wasn't the _size_ of the pension fund... I couldn't believe the numbers. But it was _still_ being designated as company pension, and it was constantly adjusted. Money coming in and money going out..."

"Going where?" Setsuna asked softly.

"I don't know. It was coded routing numbers, but we are talking a _lot_ of money."

"What did you do with the file?" Uriel spoke this time, his gaze somehow piercing despite his blindness, despite his glasses.

"Well I told my boss about it, and he laughed it off." She sniffed and gingerly handled her tea. "He said that it was a theoretical model that they were screwing around with... but I knew something was wrong. I just... I thought maybe it was just _him_ , you know? Embezzling or whatever..." But it wasn't. It couldn't have been. Stealing money was one thing, but murder was very much another... it was something shadier men were involved with. Nema would know.

But Uriel carried on, unaware of her train of thought. "So how did Daniel Fisher figure into this?"

"Daniel worked in the legal department." The memory of him had tears lining her lashes. "And I didn't... know him very well. But he was nice... so I asked him to meet me after work." She took a breath, steeled herself to the shock of loss. "I don't know how they knew. They must have people watching me. They must have people everywhere." Maybe that would sound paranoid to them... but it wouldn't have been the first time she'd been watched. "All I did was ask him for a drink. And I start to tell him about what I found... and things got blurry. Like I... I was drugged. And the next thing I know, I wake up, back in my apartment..." The memory of it strangled her like sheets around her throat, shrinking her words to a whisper. "Covered in blood."

The lawyers were silent, and she wished that she knew what they were thinking. Their faces were carefully blank, though she thought she saw traces of sadness around Setsuna's face, and deep calculation on Uriel's.

"They killed him... because of me." The confession burned her throat, her eyes, her heart. But it was the truth. If she'd never asked him to meet her... if she'd never decided to let him in on her discovery... But that was the nature of herself. She thought she was being a good person and yet she brought death upon someone who didn't deserve it... She couldn't breathe. The tears choked her like bed sheets and she couldn't breathe. "I need to get out of here; I'm sorry...!" Her chair squeaked across the floor.

But Setsuna was right up with her, hands held up in an attempt to both stop her and placate her. "We can't advise that, Miss Page."

"No, you don't understand...! You're either with them or you're _not._ And if you're with them, then I'm dead, already, and if you are not, then I _cannot_ have anybody else die because of me!" She couldn't. One was hard enough. Two was a threshold she never wanted to cross. Any more and she'd be wishing she never survived that car accident, during the fatal night in Vermont...

"We can protect ourselves, Miss Page." Uriel offered from his seat at the table. Hands neatly folded and voice unwavering, the perfect picture of confidence.

Nema wished she believed in her safety that well. All she'd learned thus far was that she would probably never know real safety; she would always feel like she was in danger... "No, you can't. Not from them."

"Miss Page-" Setsuna tried.

"No."

"We can't let you go home-"

" _Please_ , just-!" She burst out, hands folded as though in prayer. For no more blood. For safety. For the end of this, whatever the end meant... The desperation had her sobbing, and Setsuna's tentative, awkward embrace didn't soothe her... it only made her despair worse. Like the act of embracing her marked him for some kind of destruction.

"She can stay with me," Uriel spoke in the silence of the room, "just for tonight. Until we figure something out. I'll keep you safe, Nemaelle."

Again with that tone... not cruel, but utterly final. Nema couldn't fight it; she was too tired to do so. Exhausted from unspeakable things. Running away. Trying to start over. The clean slate being marred with blood...

But to Uriel's credit, he seemed like a very safe person. She couldn't explain it. Most people probably wouldn't have said it about a blind man, but he had a way of coming off strong. Capable. Protecting, and even friendly. He might not have been as open-armed as his partner, but he was a comforting sort of person. Offering to order Thai food from nearby, a dry shirt to change into now that they were out of the rain, and insisting on preparing the bedroom for her. Politeness had her refusing, but he commented that she might not be fine with the couch... She understood as soon as she'd stepped far enough inside. A giant LED billboard shone light through his windows, washing the living room over in purple hues. If she made that sound romantic, she didn't mean to... the thing was obnoxious; if it was her she would have pitched a fit over it. "Holy shit..."

Uriel didn't mind the expletive. It meant she felt comfortable. "It went up about a year ago. I'm told the co-op nearly rioted... some oversight from the developer's agreement." His shoulders lifted in a hapless shrug. "Upside is, nobody wanted it and I got a corner apartment at a Hell of a discount."

Despite herself, she laughed with him, and took the button-down that he offered. It felt a bit awkward... changing in front of him, though clearly he wouldn't be able to see anything. She turned her back toward him, anyway... and laughed again when she turned back around to see he'd done the same. "Why does a blind man need to turn away from a changing woman?"

"Hey, now. It's the principle of the thing." But he smiled as he wandered past her, toward his kitchen area.

Such was the tone for the majority of their evening. She hadn't pegged him for being the type to joke much, yet he seemed to like to, when given the opportunity. Even if it was at his own expense... laughing about how he had to simply hope for the best when he styled his hair. He was also surprisingly open about his loss of sight, and honest about how he missed it.

Which was why she felt guilty about lying when he first implied, then outright asked if she kept the pension file.

Which was why she felt guilty about sneaking out of his apartment once they'd said their goodnights and gone to bed.

He was, in the end, only trying to help her. That was his job, but to make matters worse he genuinely seemed to care. But Daniel had already died because she let him in on it, and she couldn't, wouldn't let Uriel be the next in line to fall for all those crooked numbers.

No... the pension file would be hers to bear and hers alone...


	2. Allies and Friends

**The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Allies and Friends  
_ By: Brenli

Nema felt bad about stealing Uriel's hoodie, but then again she already felt bad for lying to him and sneaking out of his apartment. Wearing his hoodie and getting it covered in rain felt like a minor offense compared to the rest... and in any case, this was for a greater good.

She couldn't just leave the Union Allied pension file in her apartment, unwatched. Waiting to be snatched up by the people who created it, in the first place, so they could keep funneling money away.

Yeah, maybe Daniel's death should have been enough to scare her off. And if not that, then surely nearly being strangled to death should have turned her away...

But it didn't.

And she supposed that was the nature of herself. That danger couldn't thwart her when she saw something wrong. It could scare her. It could awaken a monster desperate for survival, but it couldn't thwart her.

All the same, seeing the big bloodstains on the floor gave her pause. God, she wasn't sure what to do about all that blood. It just seeped in too deep; even if she somehow managed to get rid of the red, she was sure it would still be there. Unseen but lingering...

Nema swallowed the apprehensive lump in her bruised throat and hurried past the stains, into the bathroom, standing on top of the lid of her toilet. When she'd first stashed the thumb drive away in the ceiling vent, she thought it might have been overkill. A leftover piece of paranoia from growing up in a building covered in cameras, a place where you created and treasured hiding places because they were so few. Now she congratulated herself on being cautious, her fingers closing around the bit of plastic and pulling it down.

Okay. Perfect. Now all she had to do was sneak back in to Uriel's apartment and act like she'd never left in the first place. The hoodie would be dry by morning...

The second she felt herself being grabbed, she screamed. A survival roar, shredding in her bruised throat, throwing the thumb drive far away from herself, clawing and kicking even as her latest attacker smashed her head against the wall, once, twice.

The third time, she fell.

Nema fought through the dizzying pain in her head, desperately trying to stand as her attacker grabbed the thumb drive, turned, and calmly began to come back to her. She heard the click of a knife blade flipping outward, and even as the room kept spinning, she tried to think of what weapons she had... None but her bare hands. Maybe she would have to take a wound to survive. It would be worth it.

Before she could even begin to steel herself for that plan, the front door to her apartment opened, and in strode another man. Taller... far more imposing than her attacker, and all the more frightening for the black cloth tied around the top half of his head... literally, it covered his eyes and she wondered how he was able to see through it.

Her immediate assumption was that this man was working alongside her attacker. It just made sense. Two men could take care of a dead body much easier than one could...

That was when the masked man charged at her attacker and tackled him to the floor.

What...? The room looked like it was still tilting every which way, which made watching the two men fight even more dizzying. But they were fast... the masked man even more so, bravely grasping the attacker's knife-wielding hand on more than one occasion. She heard the snap of bone, and the slashing rip of a knife blade through fabric. When the attacker made a two-handed move to plunge the knife into the man in the mask, the man grabbed him by the wrists and attempted to throw him to the floor.. but the attacker flipped through the air instead, and still landed on his feet. Or maybe that was just her head still trying to even out the world. God, maybe she had a concussion...

The attacker briefly managed to get the masked man on the floor, and in that short moment Nema mentally rifled through the layout of her apartment. If she moved fast, she could grab a lamp and hit the attacker over the head with it-

But no sooner than the idea entered her mind, the man in the mask was up again, still bravely grappling with the knife-wielding attacker. She watched him throw the attacker into the corner of her apartment, watched her attacker scramble, stand, lunge with a deep, sweeping slice of the knife. But the masked man was too tall, his limbs so long they still managed to grab him. As they struggled, turning, the masked man's shoes planted against her wall and ran along it.

Um. What.

But the move, as bizarrely acrobatic as it was, disoriented the attacker, and enabled the man in the mask to throw him through her window... though he fell along with him.

Nema's mouth dropped open as the sound of glass shattered through her dizziness. What was this? What was going on? She left Vermont to get _away_ from inexplicable things...! She nonetheless scrambled, stumbling through the spinning apartment to her busted window. She almost foolishly gripped at the broken frame and cut her fingers on bits of glass, but stopped herself. Hands that hovered as her vision finally stopped swimming came up to cover her mouth, watching the two men continue to fight in the rain... The attacker nearly strangling the man in the mask at one point, but he couldn't overpower the sheer strength of him... and he seemed to finally realize it.

The attacker took advantage of a brief moment that the masked man was down, not to continue hitting him – clearly he wasn't getting anywhere doing that – but to run for his knife, grab it, and lunge with a sharp swipe.

The masked man came up just in time to smash his fist right in the center of the attacker's face. Yet the attacker kept coming, slashing through the wet air... the man in the mask dodged each time, whether that meant leaning, ducking, or even flipping through the rain.

Even through the sound of the raindrops, Nema could hear the cracking of bone in several places along the attacker's arm. It bought the masked man time to catch his breath, stumbling back in the rain... but it also allowed the attacker to stand, to grab the knife he'd dropped during the pain of his arm breaking. He still had one good arm to use...

In a move Nema hadn't been anticipating, the man in the mask suddenly grabbed the chain hanging from the scaffolding and used it, wrapping it around the attacker's neck. Just seeing it had her own throat constricting, though the masked man didn't use it for choking so much as restraint, hitting him over and over again until the knife dropped and the man stopped kicking and swinging. The final blow, a kick right to the attacker's face, sent him right to the wet ground.

He struggled to even begin standing.

Nema's breath came in rough gasps as she tried to process what had just happened, what she'd just seen. She should probably call the cops, or... or at the very least, hurry back to Uriel's apartment, even if she'd failed to get the thumb drive. Get as far away from this violence as possible...

But as she slipped out of her apartment and rushed down to ground level... she paused. Stood in the rain as she watched the attacker still struggling to breathe, and the man in the mask panting as he tried to get back on his feet. His back was cut, at the right shoulder...

He collapsed on that wounded back before finally standing. Nema was frozen, a cautious doe in the rain watching the masked man fish through the attacker's pockets and pull out the thumb drive. "... Wh... Who... What the Hell...?"

"I'll get this into the right hands." The man in the mask spoke, his voice at once both smooth and firm as polished stone.

The desperation hit her as soon as his meaning became clear. "No...! No, you can't! You can't take it to the police; you can't trust _anyone...!_ " And she hated that she felt that way. She hated that she couldn't find it in herself to trust the people who were supposed to keep the public safe... but her throat still hurt, and her words still strained like they had to make their way out of tightly wrapped bed sheets.

The man in the mask paused, looking over his shoulder at her. "... Then we tell everyone." The masked man sighed when the attacker ceased all movement and immediately unwrapped the chain from his neck... checked for a pulse. "Go back to..." He paused. "Go home. Dry off. Get some rest... and get someone to fix your window in the morning."

But fixing her window was the last thing on her mind. She watched him, not minding the rain as he bound the attacker up in that chain and hoisted him over his shoulder. He moved off, disappearing in the maze of dark New York alleys... and it was only then when she returned to Uriel's apartment.

She was in a hurry, hanging the wet hoodie on the hook she'd taken it from and silently scurrying back into the bedroom. She couldn't be sure, but she didn't think that she saw Uriel on the couch...?

Yet he was there in the morning, offering to take her out for some coffee and breakfast.

Nema had a better idea.

She... honestly, would not consider herself a particularly great cook, but she could make a decent pasta.

… Yeah yeah, it was boiled noodles and sauces, essentially. It counted for _something...!_

"Here you go...!" Despite the recent nightmare of her life, she managed to sound chipper, which had the two lawyers chuckling. "I know it's not much in the way of repayment..."

Uriel smiled anyway, a deep, "Mmmmmm..." leaving his throat. He was at once both relaxed and... stiff, she couldn't explain it. Like maybe his back was aching... she should have made him take the bedroom.

"But it is my grandmother's recipe, and she made me promise only to serve it to my future husband, so be happy I'm breaking the rules for you two!" She plopped down in the third chair they'd arranged around the cheap table with a haughty little smile... but it felt good to be a bit sassy, it made her think of the pockets of happiness she shared with her brother.

Her teasing attitude had Uriel laughing, "And should we be afraid of your grandmother's wrath, or your future husband's?"

"I'm voting grandmother," Setsuna bantered. "Little old ladies pack a wallop with their purses! Not that I know from experience or anything."

Nema ignored the way her voice still cracked a bit from her bruised throat, embraced the warm giggle that left her. "You can't blame her. The pasta is filled with virtue!"

Uriel made a big show of giving an appreciative nod. "I thought I detected a whiff of virtue in there."

As Nema smiled and served them, Setsuna swung the conversation away from virtuous pasta. "Not that I'm complaining, but you really should be thanking the nut in the mask."

"He's not a nut...!" Nema found herself defending him. Goodness knows, she knew what a real lunatic looked like. That man in the mask... he was brave to the point of foolhardiness, maybe. But if not for him, she'd be dead... "I mean, he's a little weird, maybe-"

"We're just glad that you're okay." Uriel cut her off, albeit with kindness.

"Hear, hear!" Setsuna agreed with a grin.

And Nema found herself grinning, too. "Well... if it weren't for you two, I'd still be in that cell."

"Job's easy when your client's innocent," Uriel said simply. "All you did was tell the truth."

Why did that feel like an accusation...? God, no wonder he was a lawyer. He could make you feel your guilt while still being utterly innocuous. But Nema knew she didn't have to confess anything. She wasn't on trial, and it was only his innocence that made her feel her guilt. He wasn't... _actually_ accusing her. Right? "Yeah... but you listened." She countered quietly.

A corner of Uriel's mouth lifted, but he didn't say anything. Only placed a mouthful of pasta into his mouth and chewed with a pleased countenance.

"Oh, and don't get us wrong; we're still gonna bill you." Setsuna gestured with a little wave of his knife. "Just as soon as we figure out how to make bills."

Uriel laughed, and the deep sound of it had Nema laughing, too. "I did notice that you could use some help around here... And I owe you." She fidgeted, wondering if they would take her offer. "Maybe I could clean the place up a bit?"

"... Is this place messy?" Uriel asked, his dark brows briefly furrowed... teasing.

Setsuna played off of Uriel with a snooty look. "Our firm is very prestigious and discerning, Miss Page. Do you have any prior experience hiding electrical cords up in ceiling tiles?" His voice cracked around a chuckle that had Nema giggling.

"Ummmmmm... no, but... I'll work for free?" Granted, she wasn't sure how she was going to afford rent and utilities if she was working for free... but she'd been in worse conundrums, like sleeping in abandoned cars in tiny towns as she worked her way across state lines.

Uriel smiled around a bite of pasta. "Yeah, you're hired."

"You just got hired!" Setsuna said with a celebratory grin, lifting his glass of cheap white wine. "A toast!"

Their three glasses clinked together, each of them wearing a smile. How had this happened so suddenly, as if rising from the ashes of her life with Union Allied? Nema didn't know...

But she knew that this, unlike so much of her life, had felt natural and easy and right.


	3. Of Meat and Maple Syrup

**The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Of Meat and Maple Syrup  
_ By: Brenli

Nema Page was exhausted.

She stifled a yawn as she organized papers and books, setting some on the nearest window sill, when she heard the singing. "Fill, oh, fill the pirate glass, and to make us more than merry, let the pirate bumper pass!"

What the Hell...? But the singing sent a smile across her lips, and she approached the not-quite-in-tune singing. "You know I'm still here, right?" She called out and congratulated herself on not bursting out in laughter.

Before she could reach the door to the lobby of the offices of Nelson and Murdock, it swung open, and Setsuna stood there with his face carefully serious. "... Could you... Could you hear me, just now?"

His reaction had her smile growing into a big grin, and she couldn't remember the last time she really _grinned_. "... Nope!"

As she returned to her work, Setsuna bantered back, "The correct answer is, 'Yes, and you sound amazing!'"

Nema snorted out a little scoff. "Well, of the two lies, I took the lesser!"

Setsuna chuckled merrily. "I thought you went home. What are you still doing here?"

"Uh..." Her hand briefly covered her mouth. "I... I could ask you the same...!"

"Yes, but I am a partner at a prestigious law firm with very important documents needing to be documented so we can start generating some revenue, while you are-" He paused when her chocolate brown eyes, so dark against the paleness of the rest of herself, turned up from two pages of files and stared at him. "... _also_ very integral in your own special, manager-"

She set the files down and stood up straight, one hand planted against her hip as she stared with wide, too-expectant eyes.

Setsuna sighed, which had Nema laughing. It was impossible to really be angry with Setsuna. He was too... wholesome, too happy.

"I dug myself in too deep and I can't climb out." Setsuna admitted, openly wearing his shame.

"You need a hand with that?"

"Please!"

"Oooooh...! Not gonna happen!" Oh, she'd missed bantering like this, like she used to do with...

"Seriously, what are you still doing here?" Setsuna tried again, albeit casually.

"I have work to do!" Nema's lashes fell over her eyes as she grabbed that same stack of files.

He tended to be silly, but she wasn't quite fooling him. "What work? We don't have any clients, yet."

"Well your shit's not gonna unpack itself...!" She was quick to retort, though teasingly so.

"This box of vital import will be here in the morning...!" Setsuna stepped in and grabbed the box sitting on her desk. "You should be out having a _life_ , doing poppers and flapper dancing!"

" _Flapper_ dancing?" She laughed.

"I don't know what kids do, these days!"

"We're the same age, Setsuna."

"So you're saying I shouldn't be here, either?" Setsuna's mock-serious face still had her snickering. "Fair enough...! But I'm awkward and unfashionable. Those things don't seem to apply to you."

Oh, if only he knew that her fashionable, not-awkward self was a pretty new development, in the grand scheme of things. He moved over to sit at the edge of her desk, his face so open, so sincere it made memories flood her. Old ones, that gave way to new ones, tracing the dark line of her life from Vermont to New York. "I just don't feel like going home..." She was honest, though in doing so she immediately missed the teasing they shared. "... Okay?"

Setsuna nodded, the look in his eyes softening in understanding. "Well... we can't stay here. Not enough money to keep the lights on past midnight." His suit-covered shoulders lifted in a shrug. "So let's hop a few bars, not think about it."

He didn't press, and Nema felt the gratitude swell within her chest. "Yes, big fan of the not thinking...!" That was the whole point in leaving Vermont. To not have to think... And even if more darkness greeted her, she didn't want to think of that, either.

Setsuna's hands clapped together in a single sound of approval. "You will fit right in, here!"

For his sake, she actually hoped not. It implied that everyone here had something to run away from... But she sighed the thought away as she grabbed her purse. "Should we call Uriel?"

"Sure, yeah! Let's see what he's up to."

But he didn't pick up, not even when Setsuna tried again as they strode into the little bar Nema got to hear all about, in transit. He nonetheless left a message as they stepped inside and were immediately hit with jukebox rock music and stale air.

"Uriel, it's me again...! Where _are_ you? I'm introducing Nema to Josie's, and I have high hopes it's gonna go terribly." He pointed at someone in recognition, and it was hard for Nema to picture the teddy-bear-like Setsuna associating with the kind of burly, tattooed folk that looked like they took up regular residence, here. "Climb off whoever you're on and get down here!"

"You... saved the best for last, huh?" It certainly seemed like it. Their time spent drinking and hopping went from places that looked more like bistros into a steady devolution to... this... place. It felt like the kind of places she dipped into on the journey from Vermont to Hell's Kitchen. The people felt like the kind of people that would be napping in their semi trucks at the rest stops she collapsed at...

But Setsuna's face glowed with a kind of pride. Alcoholic pride, sure, but still pride. "Oh yeah, this place is a shithole, but it's _our_ shithole...!" As they sat at the bar, he reached right over to grab a couple of glasses. "The city's tried to shut it down half a dozen times, but I helped Josie with the liens, and as a result, we get to drink for free!"

Nema looked over at the bartender Setsuna shifted his focus toward; a woman in a plaid flannel button down with the sleeves ripped off, over a Harley Davidson shirt. Her eyeshadow formed thick blocks of a single wash of color over her lids, her brows were penciled in dark, and her permed hair looked frizzy from the humidity caused by too many bodies in a tiny bar. "You absolutely do not get to drink for free." She nonetheless slid the bottle of whiskey toward them.

Setsuna caught it with a grin. "Let's agree to disagree!"

And Josie let him have the moment with a great big roll of her eyes, which had Nema smiling as she thanked him for pouring her glass.

"Cheers!" They tapped glasses for the hundredth time that night, or at least it felt like a hundred. Nema wasn't keeping count.

She coughed when she took in the alcohol, the burn making her groan. She would've expected the bartender to judge her for it, but when she looked over, Josie's smile was amused and kind. "You could do so much better, love." She commented.

"Thank you, Josie," Setsuna shot back, "but this is my employee, for your information, and we are not on a date!" His tone suddenly shifted toward mock-seriousness. "Are we on a date?"

The banter made Nema's cough continue, but only because she was laughing. "Definitely not!" No offense to him; he was handsome and he was sweet. But he was so much like her brother; she couldn't shake the correlation if she tried.

"Okay, good, because I was starting to worry you might be in love with me!" When Nema lifted her drink with a snort of a scoff, he drunkenly waved his hands about and continued to tease her. "What other explanation could there be? You hang around my office all day."

No, no wait, the night had gone so well so far. She didn't want the conversation swinging this way, even if it was in good spirits. "I'm your secretary, Setsuna."

But he wasn't having it, his drunk-blush blooming red on his face as it scrunched in scrutiny, shaking his head. "You refuse to leave! You're always at your desk."

"I'm a _good_ secretary!"

"No...! You gaze at me lovingly when you think I'm not looking."

Nema nearly spat out the mouthful of whiskey she'd sipped. It was a miracle she didn't choke from her laughter.

"What, you might...! How would I know? I'm not looking!" His tone switched again, to a mock-dejected pleading. "Just let me live in it."

They laughed, and they drank, and they tried calling Uriel again. By the time the bottle was drained they'd left three voicemails for him. Or was it four? Who knew, who cared?

"So you wanna talk about it?"

Nema was too drunk to continue the long-running game of denial. "Let's leave it alone."

"Yeah, no problem." But as she lingered on the last couple of sips in her glass, he admitted with a slur, "Okay, technically, 'leave it alone' is not my strong suit, but-"

"I can't..."

The words had come out like the alcohol helped them slip free, and she hadn't expected it. Clearly, neither had he, from the way his slightly-scrunched teasing face loosened into surprised seriousness.

"Um..." She couldn't look at him. Only the tiny bit of whiskey left in her glass. "I can't get Daniel's blood out of the carpet." When she dared to meet his eyes, it was like confessing to a crime, even though she knew she was innocent. Even though he knew it, too. "It's like somebody spilled a wine bottle and it just won't come..."

Setsuna's nod was small, tentative... but not afraid to hear these things.

"And a man broke into my apartment and tried to kill me. He dented the wall where he bashed my head in." She looked back down at her glass when Setsuna's gaze left her. It was easier to confess when she didn't have to look him in the eye... "If that guy in the mask hadn't been there..." Nema didn't say the rest. Only sighed and desperately tried to claim every remaining drop in her glass.

"My cousin does drywall. I'll call him first thing in the morning." He offered as she drank.

But she shook her head. "It's not the apartment, Setsuna."

He nodded. "I know..." His voice was soft and frank.

"I don't see the city, anymore..." And admitting it made her issue a heartbroken sigh. That wasn't what Hell's Kitchen was supposed to become. That was a feeling for the mountains of Vermont, not here... never here. "All I see are its... dark corners. I look around this room and all that I see are threats." A childhood habit she wanted so badly to break.

Setsuna was drunk but he was attentive, listening with a concerned face, pausing like he needed to be sure she'd said all she wanted to say... and it was only then when he gently scoffed. "This room? These guys are harmless...!" He turned and gestured to a man with a shaved head, shooting pool. "Look, that's Tom Belkin. He's the Road Captain in the Kitchen Hellions, and he organizes the food drive every Thanksgiving." He pointed again. Another man, with a very darkly inked sleeve of tattoos. "That's Rob Donohue. His wife Mira?" His smile grew into a glowing... proud grin, like he loved these people, like they were family. "She works at the dry cleaner around the corner from our office." Another man, graying, with the remnants of what must have been an amazing mullet, back when mullets were trendy. "That's Clint Peterson. He... Okay, he is a criminal." The honesty had Nema laughing, which had him laughing, too. "He's done time for larceny and distribution, but he's turning it around...! And we are so close to getting his kids into Saint Agnes Daycare. Saint Agnes...!"

Even with her remaining reservations, Setsuna managed to make them melt down, and she nodded her acknowledgment. "Okay... okay."

Setsuna drunkenly shrugged his shoulders. "You don't wanna go home? You don't wanna go home. We can stay out all night...!" He reached for the empty bottle, poured... or attempted to pour, shaking it when nothing came out. "Oh, shit..."

Nema laughed all the harder when Josie immediately slid another bottle to Setsuna, clearly knowing him too well. "So what about you?"

"Mmm?" Setsuna mumbled as he absently opened up the new bottle.

Nema rested her chin her hands. "You're trying to make this feel like an episode of Cheers."

He suddenly guffawed and warbled, "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name...!"

She giggled and swatted his shoulder. "What's your story? You told me Tom's and Rob's and Clint's. What's yours?"

"Little old me?" He scoffed as he poured their glasses. Nema had to guide his hand so he didn't spill on the bar. "I'm the real bad seed, here...! My Mom wanted me to be a butcher."

"A what?" Nema blinked and laughed.

"It's true!"

"I can't imagine that at all..."

Setsuna smiled widely. "Don't tell my Mom that; it'll break her heart. I said, 'No, Mom, I want to be a lawyer!' I don't remember what I said next."

Nema gently hummed as their glasses clinked yet again. "Come on, she must be proud of you, now. A lawyer is a good step above being a butcher..."

"Ah, but this is a family business. Yeah, logic says being a lawyer is a step above being a butcher, but when you have this thing, that your whole family is involved in... I mean. I grew up around this; my Mom and I used to help my Dad out with selling and... I still have all this bizarre information in my head. I have Japanese auctioneering terms firmly locked in here!" He tapped his head. "I'll never use them again because I don't need to argue with Japanese grandpas over their bluefin tuna, but it's in there, because it's this very involved, family thing. They always expected I'd be involved forever. You know what I mean?"

And Nema did... albeit, not the same way. Not with hunks of meat and Japanese auctioneering terms, but with the blue glow of radioactive cobalt, and chemical warning stickers. Yeah, when a father had a job to do but loved his family so much he'd do whatever it took to keep them near... yeah. It meant being involved. It meant the expectation of being involved forever.

But Setsuna was so drunk he carried on with describing the destiny he'd avoided. "I could be carving my own corned beef...! Making my own pickles...! Have a little shop of my own..."

"You sound like you have regrets." Nema commented quietly, trying to lock away all she was trying to keep behind herself.

"Regrets? Nah. This is what I want... If we could only get some money in the equation. Equipment! A water cooler...!"

Nema leaned down, crossing her arms on the counter and resting her chin on them. "Yeah, we're gonna need the hydration for sure, if we keep this up...!"

"I'll bring a jug for us to share. So what about you?"

"Hmm?" Her doe eyes swiveled up at him.

Setsuna grinned. "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your-"

"Oh my God!" She buried her laugh in her crossed arms. "You know my name!"

"Aw, come on, come on...!"

Nema shut her eyes and indulged him... but only the slightest bit, a sliver in the hidden ocean of herself. "I'm just a small-town mountain girl from Vermont; there's nothing exciting, there."

"I don't know; I heard Vermont makes some damn good maple syrup...!"

Among other things... "Yeah... the syrup is great."


	4. Seven Bullets

**The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Seven Bullets  
_ By: Brenli

"Uh, Uriel, it's Nema. I just saw Setsuna at Josie's. He's, um..." Her heels clacked against the concrete, the plastic of her phone creaked beneath her tightening grip. "Can you two please get your shit together? I thought we were supposed to be a team, not whatever... _this_ is, okay? Call me back... seriously." But she doubted that he would. And seeing him in person wasn't going to change anything. She knew, because she'd already tried. Leaving him with that stupid monkey balloon...

But she didn't know what else to do. Like too many times before, she felt lost in the upset and she floundered about for any course of action. What was going on, here? Why were her two friends suddenly dodgy and quiet and broody? Why was Uriel covered in bruises?

Why was the fight within them gone?

Nema Page couldn't understand... Once, it had been the other way around. Coming face to face with more danger, she'd been close to finding some dark corner to hide and drown in. It had taken two lawyers, fresh and full of heart, to pull her back to her feet. To put the fight back in her.

All she wanted to do was return the favor. All she was doing was failing... and all the while, Lucifer Fisk was getting away with plans that, even now, escaped her full understanding. But she knew that it meant the displacement of too many people who just wanted to be home. People like her...

Nema sniffed back the tears of stress and scrolled through the contacts on her phone. Uriel and Setsuna didn't want to raise their boxing gloves? Fine. She would do it herself, for people who couldn't afford to wait on two lawyers that brooded in their corners.

She placed her call.

"Yes?"

"Hi... it's Nema."

"I know... They got this thing, caller ID, might have heard of it?"

The joke was razor sharp, and it made her responding smile tentative. "... You still sound pissed."

But Isobelle Urich sighed in reply. "Just tired..."

Yeah... she couldn't blame the woman for that. It seemed like everyone was tired. Nema also had to concede that her attempt to rope Isobelle in to the hopeful expose on Fisk was... done cruelly. That was the nature of desperation, when you had too much of it inside yourself. "You okay?"

"Will be..." Her voice, albeit sleepy, lifted in hopefulness. "What's up?"

Nema paused in the middle of the sidewalk, realizing that in so many ways, she felt like a daughter calling to vent to her mother. Maybe that was the price to pay for not having a mother around. Nor a father, really. "Uriel and Setsuna are..." Her chocolate-doe eyes rolled in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, but they made her voice quiver. "I don't know what; they had some kind of fight and now... I feel like it's falling apart, Isobelle. All of it."

The pause wasn't long, but Nema felt the sympathy in it. Bless Isobelle's forgiveness; there was a dark part of Nema that didn't feel like she deserved it. "Ah... it's usually right around the time you know the story's getting interesting." Her tone was at once dismissive, comforting, empowering.

Nema smiled through her tears. "How do you do this... day after day?" Because she wanted to. She needed to, and she couldn't explain why. Maybe it was too much time being stuck in secrets, suffering for those secrets. Now all she wanted was to shine a light on every twisted, dangerous secret she saw... Well. All except for her own. She'd have to take those secrets to her grave.

"One foot in front of the other, just like everybody else." Isobelle said softly.

"You're not like everybody else." No, Isobelle Urich was some kind of Goddess of Truth, who wore glasses and had laugh lines at the corners of her mouth, and typed so much that many of the letters printed on her keyboard were worn away. She was beautiful. If Nema was lucky, maybe she'd one day be half of what Isobelle Urich was, now. "You know that, right?"

But Isobelle's reply was humble and simple, and all the more beautiful for it. "We all do what we can... sometimes it's enough."

Nema wished she could hug the reporter who'd become so much a part of her life, so quickly, so unexpectedly. "Thank you, Isobelle."

Isobelle sighed, but her smile could be heard. "I didn't say I was writing that story."

"I know, I know." Nema couldn't expect her to, after the way she'd coerced her to the scene with promises of a great home for Isobelle's ailing husband. She sniffled. "Just... thank you for... for being there, for... for caring."

"You, too." She said soothingly, gently.

"Talk tomorrow?"

"Yeah, talk tomorrow."

"Okay..." Nema spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, before she hung up. But... that was needed.

It felt childish, but it felt needed. She owed Isobelle Urich so much... for being patient with her, and for listening to her, and for encouraging her. Nema didn't know how to get through this, otherwise...

But she would. She would get through this fight, expose Lucifer Fisk for what he was, do her part to protect the city she was trying so hard to make into her home, because she had no other one.

"Shit... seriously?" Nema muttered under her breath as she moved toward the door to her apartment complex. The single light that hung above it was flickering at a rate that was distracting, that made her lashes flutter as she blinked against it and fished her keys out of her purse.

She didn't even reach the handle when she was grabbed, the gloved hand pressing cloth against her nose and mouth. She recognized the smell instantly, from too many memories that took place in her father's at-home labs... chloroform. Yet the fight or flight instinct had her screaming even as she realized it.

Three screams in and she was out cold.

When Nema came to, the chloroform still had her head spinning. All the more difficult to focus... but she knew she needed to. The sound of water dripping. The smooth coldness of a tabletop against her cheek. Her nails gently scratched at the table; it was wood.

As soon as she was able to take deeper breaths, she did, and they came in ugly, life-affirming gasps. Nema sat up as well as she could in the chair she'd been placed, and opened her eyes. A single light hung above her. It was harsh and cool-toned. Shadowy silhouettes of tables with chairs flipped on top of them, and windows covered in white tarp. Sickly yellow light shone in from them...

She heard shuffling behind her. The ruffle of fabric, someone taking off their coat. A sigh.

"I thought... maybe you weren't coming out of it."

Nema didn't turn to look at him, her head focused on what weapons she had. Her purse was gone, so no mace, no pocketknife. No phone in her pocket, no keys. She had her shoes, she could use the thin, sharp heels of them...

"That would have been a shame." The voice continued, smooth and cruel. "Tut, tut...!" The man suddenly shushed, catching Nema when she lurched forward with an animal grunt. "You might wanna take a moment." He set her back into her chair, stroking her pale blonde hair as if to calm her. "In the meantime, I thought we could chat."

Nema waited for the dizziness to dissipate as she watched his body come into view. Slim with a very crisp, neat black suit, and auburn locks of hair. He sat down across from her with a sigh, and a bright blue gaze that was at once relaxed and piercing. Like a hawk who knew it was the predator, here.

Wait.

This was the man who'd come to visit them, trying to put Nelson and Murdock on retainer for Confederated Global... for Lucifer Fisk. Wesley, Belial Wesley. She noticed, as he passed, that her purse was on the floor. Not exactly close to reach. Maybe if she kicked out the toe of her shoe she could reach it... "You can't do this." She said dumbly, slumped in her chair, sluggish.

Belial's hands gestured gently around the empty warehouse. "And yet, here we are."

Nema felt the tears come, and she was still too dazed to stop them. Whatever. She needed all of her energy to go toward survival. She had to stay alive. Just stay alive...

"You know, funny story. After the Union Allied article, I inquired as to whether you needed further attention." Wesley spoke easily, which only sent more alarm bells ringing in her head. This clearly wasn't the first time he'd done something like this... "The feeling was you'd already done whatever damage you could, so it wasn't necessary. You were a... nobody. A very small cog in the machine. So an offer was made through a third party. A legal agreement, one you signed." He crossed his legs like this was as normal as a business meeting. Nema was sure that for him, it was. "In exchange for a reasonable amount of money. Well... reasonable to you."

Nema wanted to spit at him, and she swallowed the animal urge to do it. It wouldn't help her. She needed to find a way to reach her purse without getting his attention... She needed to stay alive...

Belial Wesley leaned forward. "You were supposed to go away, Miss Page. Fade back into... wherever people like you fade. But you made a choice, and that choice has brought you here. On this night, at this particular moment in time."

God, he really loved the sound of his own voice, didn't he? That was fine. Let him keep talking, it gave her more time for the chloroform cloud to leave her head, more time for her to figure out how to stay alive.

"Perhaps that's the way it was always gonna be." Wesley mused out loud, relaxing back into his chair across from her. "Perhaps we're destined to follow a path none of us can see, only... vaguely sense, as it takes our hand, guiding us towards the inevitable."

At last, Nema spoke, even as she was still slumped in her chair, hands limply hanging. But her doe eyes stared so sharply, they could cut like a knife. "Is that supposed to scare me?" Honestly. As if she hadn't wrestled with the idea of being destined for terrible things, already. Belial could take his poetics and, quite plainly, fuck right off.

"No, no." Belial said simply. "This is." That was when he pulled the pistol from his side and aimed it at her.

The gasp that left her was quiet and instinctual, waking her up all the more. Nema supposed that looked like fear. Supposed that it _was_ fear, making her body freeze like a doe caught in headlights.

But she was betting that she didn't react to fear quite like Wesley was expecting.

He set the pistol down in the center of the table, ever confident. "Do I have your attention?"

She didn't reply, staring at the weapon, ignoring her body's physical need to let loose panicked tears. Remembering things, and planning things, and wondering if she could find it in herself, again...

"Hello, could you nod or something?"

Nema's wide eyes shifted back up to him, and she just barely managed to force her head to nod.

Belial inhaled sharply, but accepted the weak nod. "Do you love this city?"

Her brows furrowed. "... What?"

"It's a simple question. Do you love this city?"

She had mixed feelings about this city, at the moment. "I... I, um." Nema sniffed and welcomed every passing second that she could think more clearly. "I haven't been here long enough."

"Hmm." His nodded, his lips pursing together as he accepted her answer. "I find a few days, a week at most, is ample time to form an emotional response. Growing to love something is really... simply forgetting slowly what you dislike about it. I'll be perfectly honest; the situation calls for it. I do not love this city." He sat up straighter as a slight sneer began to curl his lip. "The crush of the unwashed garbage stacked on the sidewalk, the air that seems to adhere to your skin, the layer of filth you can never completely wash away."

Then why the fuck was he here, working for a man who made it a point to stay? "Maybe you should move." Nema said lowly.

But Belial only laughed, a soft, airy thing. "I'm not here because I want to be. I'm here because I'm needed."

"By Fisk?"

Wesley nodded. "He loves this city, in a way you and I never could. I don't expect you to understand that. There are moments when even I struggle to, but he does... very deeply. Almost, I suspect, as much as he loves his mother."

The realization made the flow of tears end, the remaining drops lingering in her lashes...

"Frankly, I was surprised she remembered you. Recent memories for her are fleeting gossamer... often plucked from grasp by the slightest breeze. But you..." His auburn brows lifted. "You left an impression. A nice blonde lady with big brown eyes. And the woman you were with, Mrs. Urich, I'm guessing." To Nema's responding sniff, he sighed. "My employer- Sorry, old habits." Belial smiled. "Mr. Fisk, as I said, loves his mother. He would be extremely... disturbed... if he knew you'd found her. Even more so, that you've been to see her."

Now that... that was a surprise. "You haven't told him?" Nema asked quietly, trying to determine what that meant. Why keep the discovery from Lucifer?

"He's preoccupied with more important matters, so I've taken it upon myself to address the situation."

'Address the situation.' Cute. "If you're going to kill me... just do it." The chloroform cloud had lifted away enough for her to grow brave. For her to stare the threat of death in the face yet again. To even taunt it, like how a fighter greets danger with insults. "I'm sick of listening to your bullshit."

He found her bravery amusing, the airy laugh turning into a deceptively warm chuckle. "I'm not here to kill you, Miss Page. I'm here to offer you a job."

A job... Nonsensical. Outlandish. She couldn't wrap her brain around the idea, could only reflect Wesley's smile weakly, shakily. A job... What made him think she'd want that job? "So... after all of this, I'm supposed to, what...?" The laugh came out of her mixed with the aged remnants of a prior half-sob. "Be your secretary?"

"The position I have in mind is a little more... involved." He neatly folded his hands together on the table. "You've proven yourself resourceful, tenacious, with a commendable ability to convince others that your way is the right one. The way that needs to be followed, pursued despite the obvious repercussions such actions may incur."

"Is that even English?" Nema commented dryly. She refused to take this seriously. He wanted to make her a spokeswoman? Market Lucifer Fisk's brand?

Belial gave a loud, audible, fed-up sigh that pleased her. "Simply stated... you're going to convince Mrs. Urich that everything is fine... That you were wrong. That Lucifer Fisk is a good man, a man this city needs. And then you're going to spread the gospel to everyone you've infected with your negative point of view."

Infected. That actually, despite her wanting to vomit all over this proposal, seemed like a good description for her. Like a virus. Like poison. Like radioactive compounds. Getting people hurt just by being around them. That sounded accurate. "I'd rather die, first." She said it soft and cruel, her doe eyes sharp as knives.

Clearly not the answer he'd been expecting. His head tilted, his brows furrowed, he frowned. "But you won't... be the first to die, Miss Page. No." He leaned back, mentally sifting through his threats. "No, I think Mrs. Urich will have that honor."

Nema's breath left her in a low but audible rush, watching the effects of her cursed self reflected in each name Wesley decided to drop.

"Then we'll go to your place of employment, see to Mr. Nelson, Mr. Murdock. After that, your friends, family, everyone you've ever cared about. And when you have no tears left to shed, then... then we'll come for you, Miss Page."

His cell phone rang like a whole new alarm bell in her brain. The disgusting panic. The desperate drive to stay alive, and more. To keep someone else alive because they were her heart.

At any cost.

The instinct was animal, ferocious. He looked at his phone, and she dived forward, grabbed the pistol. Aimed it at him with several adrenaline-fueled breaths. Deep. Just like before. Get the jittery energy out, so she could steel herself for the decision she was about to make.

If Belial Wesley was surprised, he either didn't show it or worked past it quickly. He only... smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting, with a single breath of a condescending chuckle.

It reminded her of her father.

"Do you really think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?"

"I don't know." Nema's voice quivered from too many things, and she cocked the gun.

His head tilted upwards in apprehensive curiosity. Good.

"... Do you really think this is the first time I've shot someone?" The truth of it settled in her veins, making her ugly and monstrous and alive.

But Belial only chuckled again, adjusting his glasses. He began to rise. "Miss Page-"

The disgusting familiarity of pulling the trigger, of the recoil, of the popping sound, sizzled through her bones. Memories... and the creation of this new one. She watched him sink back into his chair, the look on his face at once both guarded and surprised. Yeah, surprise, the stupid blonde secretary could shoot a gun and had the conviction to do it.

And her aim was better, now.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was sending more bullets into him. Another for the threat against Isobelle Urich. One for Setsuna. One for Uriel. One for her father. One for her brother.

One more, a seventh bullet, for herself.

It was only then when she paused, feeling the rush of being alive... the rush of killing in order to be alive. She couldn't steel herself against that feeling, couldn't wrestle with it, and it showed in the way she was suddenly shaking.

She dropped the gun with a gasp and clamped her hands over her mouth. She had to do it. She had to. She had no choice, yet she whimpered from the dismay of it. She didn't want this... She'd meant to run away from things like this...

The cell phone rang again, shocking Nema back into fight or flight. She had to stay alive. She grabbed the pistol, wiped the sleeve of her coat all across the table in the hope of smearing her fingerprints.

She scooped up her purse and fled into the night, leaving Belial Wesley with nothing but the ringing of the phone he could no longer answer.


	5. Stages of Grief

**The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Stages of Grief  
_ By: Brenli

Alcohol hadn't worked.

Showering hadn't worked.

More alcohol hadn't worked.

Not even sleep... The event always played over, seven shots into Belial Wesley's chest, and throwing that gun into the Hudson. She wasn't supposed to do it again. She wasn't supposed to kill again... And the misery of such a thing only forced her to recall the last time she'd thought to kill. The last time she'd ended up...

Nema jolted awake at the older memory, sighing at the feeling of the headache pounding against her skull. She sat up with a hand against her temple... why couldn't she just get black-out drunk? That was all she wanted. Then she wouldn't have to think, or remember...

On instinct, she reached for her bottle of whiskey, only to find it empty. With a groan, she got out of bed and dragged her feet into her kitchen, opening her fridge to grab a bottle of beer. Not as hard as she'd like, but it would have to do-

She nearly dropped the glass with a frightened gasp, but managed to clutch on tightly once she saw him. Tall, broad, imposing in the darkness. Overshadowed and unreadable...

"It's a difficult thing, isn't it?" Lucifer's voice was a quiet rasp; it felt like the serrated edge of a knife being dragged ever so delicately across her skin. "Taking a life..." He strode closer, out of the shadows. He was playing with his fingers in an idle gesture as he spoke. "Feeling the weight and responsibility of all the years the person you've murdered has lived... Moments that they've cherished..."

Nema's hand tightened even more against the glass. She considered smashing it against the nearest surface and making herself a weapon.

Lucifer only stepped closer. "The dreams that they've struggled towards, gone... because of you."

She took one pace back, feeling the panic rise to her brain. Lucifer licked his lips, and it was such a... humanizing gesture. Somehow, it only scared her more.

"I want you to know something. Something important that I've learned." His steel gray eyes were soft, and the fear of them kept her stricken silent. "That it gets easier... the more you do it." His hands suddenly came up against her throat and closed like a vice.

Nema screamed into the air as she shot up in her bed, and even the light scratch of her bedsheets against her neck had her flailing, tearing the cloth away with a panicked whimper. Her hands settled against her unharmed throat, and she wept.

Wept for repeated nightmares.

For the need to fight for survival.

For death, and the dealing of it, whether it was deserved or so... so very undeserved.

Nema glanced at the clock and realized that she would have needed to get up soon, anyway. Today was the day of the funeral... Isobelle Urich's funeral.

Of course, that required a plain black dress and the only pair of black heels that she had that weren't shiny patent leather. Brushing the alcohol off her breath, and bringing mints to be extra sure.

Makeup was difficult with how much her eyes kept watering... But she did what she could, and told herself that it wasn't as if she'd be the only weeping one there. Isobelle Urich was well-loved, and that showed itself in the number of cars parked around St. Michael's Cemetery. She found a spot and walked the rest of the way, and some sick part of her hoped her shoes left her with blisters. She'd deserve it, for having a part to play in Isobelle's death.

It didn't matter if Nema wasn't the one who'd personally strangled Isobelle, or had ordered the murder. She wasn't dumb. She knew this was a response to the article Isobelle intended on writing after all, and she wouldn't have even considered that article if it hadn't been for her.

But that was the nature of herself, wasn't it? Trying to do something good, and getting innocent people hurt, because of it.

The sky was appropriately gray for the funeral, and it made the bits of color incorporated stand out all the more brightly – the regal violet and gold on Father Adam Lantom's stole, the warm oak of the polished casket. The purple rose that she clutched in her hands as she sniffed quietly. It should have been her in that casket...

Across the way, Nema could see Isobelle's husband sitting in his wheelchair, the tears tracking down his face as he slowly shook his head. Mourning the loss of his wife...

But life was cruel, and when a person was gone, they were simply gone. Whether they were left slumped in a chair with seven bullets stuck in them, or whether they were gently set into the earth, purple roses laid with them.

Nema gently reached out to touch Uriel's bicep. "Give me a minute, okay?" When he nodded, she squeezed his arm in returned acknowledgment, and stepped across the cold grass toward Mr. Urich.

She didn't have to do this, she knew that. But she wanted to. After the way she'd inadvertently guided his wife to her death, she had to do something. Say something...

"Mr. Urich...?" She gently twirled the purple rose back and forth in her hands when their eyes met. Much like Isobelle's own, they seemed so soulful... and because of that, their sorrow reflected all the stronger. Nema took the pain. "Um... I'm Nema. Nema Page. I don't know if Isobelle ever-"

"Nema, yes." For all his sadness, his eyes lit up in recognition. "She talked about you all the time..."

Learning that nearly had Nema sobbing. She had to pause before she spoke again. "She did?"

"She thought you were something else." How could someone in so much pain, speak with that kind of wonder in their voice? And how could that wonder possibly be aimed at her? "The way you wouldn't let go until you got to the truth. She admired that."

Nema couldn't hold it back, she had to release the chocked sob into the cold air.

Isobelle's husband looked down at his lap. "We never got around to having kids, too busy with this or that, but... if we had, I think she would have wanted one like you."

Nema wanted to shake her head wildly; she was poison, she was cursed, no one should ever want someone like her for a daughter. But she stayed as composed as possible, a dignified straight line with tears dripping down it. "Mr. Urich, I..." Her voice cracked, and her throat felt like it had frost in it. "I think it's my fault..."

Isobelle's husband gently shook his head in confusion.

"What happened to Isobelle." Her confession shivered in her mouth, ached. "I pushed him into a story that he didn't want-!"

"Isobelle Urich never got pushed into doing anything she didn't want to do." He smiled.

Nema couldn't believe he could smile, on this day... it had her weeping as she hung her head, tears dripping off her face, onto purple rose petals.

"She was a reporter." He reached out with one gloved hand, and she took it in her own, though she didn't feel that she deserved the comfort. "That's what she lived for." His lip began quivering, which got hers quivering, too. "And she passed... doing what she loved. What she _had_ to do."

"We should be going..." His caretaker gently spoke, eyes meeting Nema's.

She could only nod silently, recognizing the comfort Isobelle's husband tried to offer her. The forgiveness... But those were pills she couldn't swallow. That wasn't why she spoke with him. It wasn't for herself. She just... had to shine a light on her responsibility. On her wrongdoing. She never should have pushed Isobelle into this, never should have brought the information to her. She should have... she didn't know. Done it herself. Started a... a stupid blog. Something.

But she couldn't undo what happened. Couldn't undo death.

"It was nice to meet you, Nema." Isobelle's husband spoke politely, through tears.

"Is there... Is there anything that you need?" Nema offered through her quiet weeping. "Any... Anything at all that I-"

"No." He reassured her. "Isobelle's taken care of all that. She took out a policy years back when that river water story turned ugly." He smiled, or tried to smile... but broke into a sob. "She always took care of me... Still is."

His caretaker wheeled him away, and in his leaving, Nema's brown eyes accidentally met the green ones of Isobelle's former boss at the Bulletin. Nema didn't know much about her... Her name was Nyssa Ellison, and once upon a time, she'd actually been Isobelle's protege. Time and an ailing husband were the only reasons she and Nyssa had essentially traded positions. Nyssa, according to Isobelle, was more than capable and deserved the chance to show it, while she herself needed to be able to spend more time with her spouse.

Nema opened her mouth as if to call out to her, but no sooner than she did, the woman looked away. Firmly severed the opportunity to speak. That was just as well; they didn't know each other, and she probably felt guilty for letting Isobelle go. Leaving her to her own devices.

Yet Nema couldn't feel any anger over it. After all, if there had never been an article in the first place, then Isobelle would still be working at the Bulletin. No, there was no reason to harbor resentment for a woman who was only protecting the company, a company she didn't think she'd have any involvement with, again...

Roses were laid in a perfect pile upon Isobelle's casket, and while Uriel was engrossed in a hushed conversation with the priest, Nema laid her own rose on top of the rest. So many roses. So many lives that were touched by Isobelle's presence... all mourning now, because of what she'd begged her to write.

She heard the tapping of Uriel's walking stick against the grass and moved toward him, gently taking his elbow and guiding him back to her car.

"Are you doing okay?" He asked, his voice deep and soft.

She took a breath, and it shuddered in the chilly air. "Every time I close my eyes, I see..." Her throat stuck. She tried again as they paused at her car. "What if he finds out that I... that I was with Isobelle at Saint Benezet? What if he finds out that I spoke to his mother, too?"

His response was immediate and kind, too kind for the likes of her. "If that happens, we'll deal with it."

"How...?" And did she even want him to, after the deaths that had already happened to people who stuck around her for too long? "The news barely mentioned what happened to Isobelle because Fisk pays off the media. And the police haven't arrested anyone for it because Fisk pays them off, too." She looked up into the dark lenses of his glasses. "Setsuna was right... How do you stop someone like that, someone who... _has_ so much?"

"It just means he has more to lose...!"

But Nema shook her head, even if he couldn't see it. "He's gonna find out what I did."

"No." Uriel insisted, his voice final. Firm as stone.

"He's going to find out, and he's gonna come after me, just like he came after Isobelle-"

"I told you I would keep you safe, Nema...! When he came after you over Union Allied. That hasn't changed."

Her breath was a shudder behind her hands, a foggy puff of stress and guilt.

But Uriel pressed on, as was his nature. Hard and imposing like a stone wall, like a mountain. "Everyone that's taken money from him, everyone that's helped him tear this city apart... they're all gonna get what's coming to them."

In that moment, his conviction was frightening. Like this was the most personal of vendettas, like Uriel might shed his legal jargon and put on his father's boxing gloves, instead. It wasn't often that he took this tone, at least, not around her. But when he did, despite his blindness and despite his belief in the justice system, it was easy to believe he could knock out all the evil in Hell's Kitchen. It flustered her, had her fumbling to unlock her car doors and open the passenger side for him.

He didn't climb in right away, his jaw set firm in his face. "Along with Lucifer Fisk."


	6. Amigos y Avocados

**The War for Hell's Kitchen  
** _Amigos y Avocados  
_ By: Brenli

"Daredevil..." Nema mused as she stared at the front page of the latest paper. "That's what they're calling him, now. The man in the mask."

"Daredevil?" Setsuna said with a smile, cheeky and strangely secretive. "Sounds like he's gonna jump Snake River Canyon on his rocket cycle."

"It kinda does, doesn't it?" A laugh radiated from Uriel, deep and warm and rumbling, such as he hadn't done in so long. But then, how couldn't any of the three of them be happy for once?

Lucifer Fisk was in prison.

His company dissolved.

Every mole and paid-off person within his web, found out and arrested for their involvement.

The war for Hell's Kitchen was over, and it belonged to its people, again.

They won.

"Okay, okay." Nema conceded with a grin, "I thought it was a bit goofy at first, but it kinda grows on you. And it's better than the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, anyway...!"

Uriel's dark brows lifted with a tilt of his head. "Not wrong there."

She exhaled a quiet breath as she stared at the front page, at the window insert of Daredevil's picture back when he wore black, set next to a colored, shadowy sketch of his new outfit. Red as the name might suggest. "I can't believe this is the same guy that stopped that Union Allied nut from stabbing me in my apartment... That is a serious upgrade."

"I don't know," Setsuna commented with the hints of teasing in his voice, "I think the horns are a bit much. There!" He stepped back from his work. "Done! What do you think?"

The sun was trying hard to find its way through the clouds, just barely managing to make the brass lettering shine. "I think I'm glad I fished it out of the trash," Nema said smugly as Uriel stepped forward and blindly, gingerly felt the lettering.

"Nelson and Murdock." His voice glowed with pride, turning to his dear friend. "Avocados at law."

The two men laughed brightly at their shared joke, leaving Nema to furrow her brow and smile in confusion. "Avocados?"

"It's a long story..." Setsuna checked his watch. "Which I do not have time to tell you. Promised Sara I'd help her find a new job since most of the partners at Landman and Zack are under indictment." He hurriedly grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Oh?" Nema's lashes fluttered in a surprised blink, and she grinned conspiratorially. "You two getting back together...?"

"No." Setsuna paused. "I don't know... Maybe." The smile lit up his face, making all three of them share in a laugh.

"Well, thank her for us." Uriel nodded warmly. "For everything she did helping bring Fisk down."

"Fisk still needs to go to trial," Setsuna reminded with a shrug, "and just getting a court date on a case this big could take a year."

"That long?" The sunny glow in Nema's voice faded slightly.

But Uriel was reassuring. "He's where he belongs, that's all that matters. And _we_ ," he pointed to the three of them, "put him there."

"Yeah, we did." Setsuna grinned and glanced at their building plaque. "Hell of a sign."

"Now all we need are clients."

"One day at a time, partner. One day at a time." Setsuna patted Uriel's shoulder and waved a farewell to Nema.

As Setsuna left, Nema gently sighed. "Guess that means we should get back to work." But for however trying things had been lately, she was glad to get right to work, again. She'd been so close to thinking she would never work here, again. Close to thinking she would need to skip town. Close to thinking she might die.

But as soon as she went about unlocking the metal screen door, Uriel spoke with a different tone to his voice. No less soothing, but soft with concern. "Hey, Nema."

She played it off like she couldn't sense the shift. "Yeah?"

He didn't respond right away, blind eyes looking straight ahead into the dark lenses of his glasses. "... There's been something in your voice. It's... it's been there for a while, now. I thought whatever it was, whatever's been..." He quietly exhaled. "I thought it would get better once Fisk was put away, but..." His head turned toward hers, not really to see her, but a gesture of opening up. "It hasn't, has it?"

… No, Nema didn't want to visit any of this. The point was, she was doing better. Yes, she still had her casket full of terrible secrets, and new ones to tuck in there. The murder of Belial Wesley. The death of Isobelle Urich... But they'd come through all of it, without her needing to skip more state lines. Hell's Kitchen was still her home... Yet she sighed, knowing that if she wanted to be Uriel's friend, she should be more open than this. True, there were things she was never going to tell anyone. Things that would be buried with her... But feelings, she could and should share those. "We put Lucifer Fisk away, yeah. But it won't bring back Elena... or Isobelle." Her voice cracked in the mourning of her. "Or erase what we've been through..." Like bedsheets around her throat. "Or what we've had to do to get here." Seven bullets in Wesley's chest...

Uriel softly nodded, softly spoke. "Yeah... A lot of decisions I'd give anything to go back and change." He breathed in deep, seeming like he had his own secrets that he intended to have buried with him. "But I can't. None of us can. It's like I told Setsuna; all we can do is move forward..." A smile lightly curled his lip, and he held out the crook of his elbow. "Together."

And Nema knew he was right. That had been the whole reason for her running away from Vermont, after all... in choosing this chaotic and passionate pocket of New York to be her new home. She wanted to move forward, into something better, whatever form that might take... Being a secretary for a law firm so young and so full of heart. Being friends with two of the kindest souls she had ever met...

She smiled and took hold of his elbow, guiding him into their office building. "So, explain this avocados thing to me..."


End file.
